


Risking it all

by eviljoey



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Pre-Canon, agent curt mega - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27156679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eviljoey/pseuds/eviljoey
Summary: Try as he might, Curt can't keep his feelings hidden for any longer. {pre-canon}
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	Risking it all

Curt...had a problem. He couldn’t stop looking at Owen. Looking at his big, brown eyes that always squinted whenever he was about to say something witty, his brows that only slightly furrowed whenever he was stuck on a problem he just couldn’t seem to solve, his mouth, that only seemed to flash that crooked smile to Curt. He knew Owen knew he was staring. Whenever Owen caught him, he’d shoot Curt a grin and a wink. This only made things worse.

Curt had been battling with this for months. He tried rationalizing it at first, thinking it must be normal for close friends to think about each other so intimately. That is, until he found himself dreaming about living together with Owen, accidentally waking himself up with the sound of Owen’s name on his lips. 

Then, Curt tried suppressing it. Alcohol, drugs, women--whatever he could do to keep the thoughts away. He tried to keep things normal with Owen--chat, be friendly, a nice punch on the shoulder from time to time. He couldn’t suspect, right? There’s no way. Curt knew he looked like the ultimate womanizer, and if Owen had suspected him, he would’ve used it to his advantage as blackmail. 

The urge to tell him was getting too strong. Curt couldn’t risk it--not when he could lose his job, his best friend, and any hope of finding a sustainable career afterward. There’s no way in hell he could tell him. 

But...what if he could?

Owen didn’t seem the straightest himself, not that Curt could really tell. He was more charismatic and charming than most of his fellow spies, and his eyes always seemed to linger on Curt’s lips even a little after he had finished speaking. Were all brits this sweet, he wondered? Or was Owen just particularly fond of him?

Curt couldn’t afford to lean towards the latter option. He tried to suppress his feelings for as long as he could, but when he was stuck with him, and only him, on a weapons bust operation, he felt himself losing his grip. 

Curt tried not to drink too much while on the job, which made things harder when he was alone with Owen. After they knocked out the criminal and intercepted the weapon, the brit looked over to Curt. 

“It doesn’t get old, does it?” He was wearing a cocky smile, not a care in the world. How could he not care? With the lavender scare, and the sodomy laws, how could he afford to be so loose?

Maybe he wasn’t gay after all. 

“I guess not,” Curt replied shortly, trailing behind Owen as they fled the facility. 

“You alright, dear? You seem rather down.”

 _Dear._ The use of the word caused Curt’s body to come alive up as though he were being electrocuted. 

“Don’t use that word with me. I’m fine. Just...long day, is all.”

“Whatever you say.” With a huff, Owen motioned for Curt to get into the passenger side of the car they took to the facility.

He decided to sit in the back. 

A few days later, Curt still couldn’t stop thinking about that interaction. The way he snapped, the crestfallen look on Owen’s face, the grimace and darkness that had overtaken his usually bright eyes. 

He didn’t usually drink, especially not within a week of a mission. Really, he didn’t. It was something he prided himself in; being sober enough to retain information and keep secrets. It’s what’s kept him this job this long in the first place. 

Even still, after snapping at Owen like that...he couldn’t help but pour himself a shot. 

“You’re a mess,” Curt mumbled to himself, alone in his apartment, “a goddamn mess. If you were man enough, you would...you would…” 

He didn’t want to think about what he would do if he were man enough. He didn’t want to think about how he was drinking just to build up the confidence to do said thing.

He let out a groan, slumping back down onto his bed, letting the shot glass slip from his hand. 

“Y’know what?” Curt yelled. “I don’t even think he’ll care! If I went down there and told him how I felt about his stupid face, I doubt he’d even care.” Of course, he was just saying this in order to force himself to make a move. The alcohol must have been working, however, because the shallow motivational speech was motivating him. 

As he stood up from the bed, he kept going. “Yeah...yeah! Owen’s a nice guy...he’s my best friend! He can keep a secret.” 

So, in his buzzed stupor, Curt decided to risk his entire future and confess his true identity to Owen. He wandered out the door and down the hall--the agencies knew they worked together, so whenever Owen stayed in the US, they had him rent an apartment near Curt. “Owen...O--” his hand fell back down to his side when he saw the man who opened the door. 

It was Owen, of course. But not the picture-perfect spy he got to see at work. There were no classy loafers, no tuxedos, no hair gel. 

When Owen opened the door, there were dark bags under his eyes. A stubble was growing in on his usually clean-shaven face, and he was wearing nothing but boxers and a t-shirt for some British band.

He yawned, and in an uncharacteristically raspy voice, he asked, “it’s midnight. What is it?”

Curt couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak, really. He was too busy taking in the man that stood before him; this domestic, simpler version of Owen. He didn’t look glossy or charming, he just looked how he was; a man who was just awoken from a deep sleep.

Tears had begun to stream down Curt’s face. He didn’t realize it was happening, really. He just felt so overwhelmed with emotion and warmth at the privilege of being able to see Owen like this, in his most private state, and the fact that he looked more beautiful like this than he ever could’ve looked out in the field. 

“Curt? Are you alright?” Owen moved to help Curt, who had doubled over, clutching his face in his hands and still trying to suppress his sobs. 

He was in love. 

That was it. As soon as he saw Owen open the apartment door, something clicked in his heart and he knew it. Maybe he knew it all along. Either way, Curt knew he couldn’t hold in his feelings any longer. 

“I gotta...tell you something…” Curt managed between sobs. Owen took his shoulder and guided him inside of the small, shabby apartment.

“Of course. Anything.”

“You don’t understand…” Curt had managed to find the couch when Owen turned the lights on and cast the living room in a weak orange glow. 

“I’m sure I will. Or I’ll try, at least.” 

“No...could cost me my job...you...have to promise not to tell…” Curt hiccuped, and Owen nodded. He hoped the flush on his face wasn’t showing, or that Curt couldn’t tell that he had immediately tensed. Owen had a feeling he knew what was coming, and while everything screamed at him inwardly to simply yell for Curt to tell him, he knew that wouldn’t do the trick.

“Curt, you know I’m your friend first, and a spy second.”

This sentiment sent Curt careening back into a fit of ugly sobs. “I’m g-gay!” 

He rested his head on Owen’s lap and considered it a good sign that Owen let him. Owen began to run his hand through his hair, gently shushing him until he calmed down. 

“Curt, I am too.” 

“No you’re not,” he mumbled into Owen’s leg, “you’re just saying that to make me feel better. Or to mock me. Can’t tell.”

Owen shifted his legs a little, indicating for Curt to sit up. He did, and as soon as he met Owen’s eyes, he was pulled into a passionate, urgent kiss. Owen had been wanting this moment for years, ever since he first saw Curt. He never dreamed that he’d feel the same way. 

“Curt Mega, if I find out you’re blackout and this was all some sick, drunken joke, I’ll--”

“Owen, do you know how many shots it takes to get me drunk?”

“Around six, why?”

“I’ve had one.” Owen smelled his breath, and sure enough, only the faintest hint of liquor remained. 

He chuckled. “Well then, would you care to stay for the night?” 

Curt buried his head into Owen’s shoulder. He knew life for them would be more difficult for them, not only because they were gay, but because they were working for two separate agencies. Even still, he had to maintain faith. It was all he had, and basically the only thing that got him here, aside from the alcohol, of course.

Curt planted a kiss on Owen’s temple. 

“I’d love to.”


End file.
